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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24905953">These Memories I Love (and can’t stand)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reiya_Wakayama/pseuds/Reiya_Wakayama'>Reiya_Wakayama</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Teen Wolf (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Canonical Character Death, Derek Has Issues, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, M/M, Past Drug Use, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, canon up to alpha pack</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 03:14:37</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,282</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24905953</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reiya_Wakayama/pseuds/Reiya_Wakayama</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>She calls him, before she leaves. The message is on his phone, waiting for him. By the time he listens to it, it’s too late. By the time he reaches Beacon Hills, she’s gone. This is all he has left, just a small clip of her voice and he clings to it desperately, like a life preserver in a storm.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Derek Hale/Other(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>These Memories I Love (and can’t stand)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This starts right after the fire than jumps to after they take down the Alpha Pack and the Darach. In this, Derek takes the loss of his pack hard and tries to forget his past.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>After the fire, there’s nothing. Just an empty stretch of time waiting to be filled with even more nothing. Their pack is gone, burned to ash or not even really alive. It’s just him and Laura against the world and he hates it, hates himself, even sometimes, he hates her for her optimism and talks of starting over.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>There’s no starting over from this. No do overs, or second chances. There’s just living from day to day, hoping that one day, you don’t wake up and can finally just let go. Laura clings to him tighter, demands more, demands to be let in. She is Alpha, she needs him more than he needs her…or at least that’s what he feels.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He finishes high school for her, but afterwards, he can’t do it anymore. He can’t socialize or pretend that every moment he breaths, he doesn’t taste ash.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She clings even tighter, even as he runs, strains at the leash she keeps on him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He doesn’t remember why he goes to the club the first time. Maybe it’s the throbbing beat, drowning out his thoughts or the smell of sweat and pheromones that lessen the taste of ash on his tongue. All he knows is that after that, he stops caring.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The first hit of ecstasy hits him hard, sharp, sweet and so very much needed, but the come down is hard on its heels, the sudden lack of that euphoria is like a knife to the gut. Not for the first time, he hates what he is.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But it shows him a world he can fall into without regrets. Here, in the living creature of the club, no one knows him or judges him or even asks him anything. He’s a piece of a machine, accepted without regard to his past or his future.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He falls in and out of people’s lives and beds like routine. He pops pills and drinks, not caring what he’s taking, only looking for the next bit of high, and the next brief relief from his life. Laura watches and clings even more but eventually, even her strong grip lessens and finally, he’s free.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He stops going back to their tiny apartment, except to occasionally grab more clothes or to sleep if he has nowhere else to crash. Laura tries so hard to hold him, to reel him back in. He won’t let her and eventually, she stops trying so hard.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A small part cries out in pain at the defeat in her eyes, at the way their bond dims slightly, though it doesn’t break.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Time passes in fits and bursts, with no real defining moments to stand out, just blurred memories and sense impressions to remind him of what he had been doing.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Years have gone by though. He’s three days into binder of hard liquor, easy sex and whatever pills the nameless man in his bed had brought before he decides to check his phone. It’s dead and he grumbles as he finds his plug and spends a few minutes making some breakfast before it’s finally charged enough to turn on.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>There are ten missed calls, all from Laura and one voice mail. Growling in annoyance, he opens up his voicemail and presses it to his ear, still eating.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Hey Der,</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>He freezes at the tone of her voice, heart giving a thump of apprehension even before she continues.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>I…look…something’s come up and I need to look into it. And I know you won’t hear this for a while, or ever probably, but I still need to say it. </em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>I’m sorry…for the way things have turned out. I know I held onto you too tight, or maybe not tight enough. Maybe I should have made you go to a therapist or maybe I should have stepped back and let you make your own decisions.</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>Guess we know how that turned out. [A soft chuckle.] You told me once that I needed you more than you needed me and you were right, but not in the way you thought. You’re my family, Der and when they died, I was so lost and scared and alone, just like you and I needed you to be my rock. Maybe I needed a therapist too. [Another laugh.]</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>Look, I’m not saying this to guilt you or anything, but I thought you should know. I’m going back home. Something’s come up and I need to check it out. It’s time I stopped running from our ghosts and faced this. I’m the Alpha. I’ll call you when I get there. Maybe you’ll pick up this time.</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>[A harsh sigh and the sound of fingers through hair.] I’ll see you later Der, maybe.</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>[A pause.] I love you, Derek.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The message ends, a mechanical voice asking if he wants to do something else, but he quickly thumbs it off, hands shaking as he quickly looks to see when her last call was. The most recent was from two days before, the latest from last week. Her voicemail was the second to last call.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He quickly scrolls to her number and hits the call button. His heart is beating erratically, the hand not holding his phone is gripping the table’s edge so hard he can hear the wood whining at the pressure. It rings and rings and rings…before clicking over to her automated voice mail message. He tries three more times before stopping.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>His mind is a whirling mess of thoughts and emotions, horrible scenarios playing through his head at why she’s not answering. In a rush, he quickly wakes his latest, nameless lay, giving the guy enough time to dress and grab his things before he throws him out.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He’s a mess, his heart beating so fast, breath laboring and with a rush, he barely makes it to the toilet before what little he had eaten and whatever he’d had the night before comes up. He’s crying, deep, heaving sobs as he heaves again and again, thoughts of what ifs and maybes shifting too fast to really examine but still leaving a mark.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Forcing himself up on shaky limb, he rinses his mouth before going to the kitchen. Takeout containers and empty bottle litter the counters. He tosses them. He pulls the full bottles out and tosses them as well, listening to them shatter without a care. He grabs his stashes and flushes them. There’s no food in the fridge to worry about.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He doesn’t even wait to shower, just throws a few changes of clothes into a duffle, and snags his phone and charger, wallet, keys and just leaves, locking up behind himself. He stops at her place, where he first lived with her before getting his own, but the apartment is locked up. Her Camaro is gone, taken with her.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He grabs a taxi to the airport, calling ahead to get a ticket on the next flight he can to the closest airport to home. He barely even has enough thought to pay the driver before he’s rushing inside. His ticket is easily bought and he doesn’t cringe as he usually does when he pulls from their insurance money.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But he still has two hours to kill before the plane leaves and the wolf inside has a hard time accepting that. He nearly snaps at the TSA that checks his belongings but reins himself in. Finally past security, he does the only thing he can. He paces, up and down the terminal, checking his watch over and over, watching the minutes and seconds drag by.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He tries to delude himself with logical thought: maybe she forgot to charge her phone or she’s sleeping with it off or she lost it, broke it, or changed her number…anything but what is most likely the truth. He keeps trying, the phone pressed to his ear. He’s forced to stop for a while to recharge it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Inside though, the wolf is mourning, howling in pain. He dares not look at their bond, for fear of breaking down. She isn’t gone, can’t be until he sees it for himself.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The clock is still ticking down though…</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He’s out of time even before it hits zero.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>~*~</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He doesn’t even think to check his pockets until after they’ve all stumbled their way back to the Stilinski residence. They’re exhausted, battered, bruised and in need of some warm water and soap. It’s an absent thought to pat his pockets, to make sure everything he went out with is still there.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Something shifts wrong in his pocket and Derek freezes. Reaching in slowly, he pulls out his phone, to find it broken in half. He can recall taking a hard hit to that side, landing hard after tumbling through the air.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Distantly, he feels his heart shatter even further. Her voice is gone now. His last piece, last connection to her is gone, just like that.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Derek?” Stiles calls softly and he looks up to see they’re alone in the kitchen. Stiles looks, concerned and that forces him to pull back and stuff everything away, figuratively and literally in the case of his phone.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What?” he growls out, feeling cornered and exposed.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Are you okay?” he asks and he can see those eyes tracking his every movement, that quick mind of his taking the pieces that shouldn’t even exist and making a whole puzzle from them. He hates and admires him for that. He wants to hide away from him. He doesn’t though, can’t expose his back to Stiles, like suddenly the tables have turned and this weak human is now the predator and he his prey.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’m fine,” he growls out, pushing past the human before he can give anything else away. Stiles lets him go without comment and Derek leaves. He doesn’t go back to the loft, can’t. Not with the memory of Boyd’s death still saturating the air and walls and floor. He can’t go back to their home, too many memories clamor there. So he turns to the south and runs, hard and fast before eventually, the Beacon Hills Cemetery comes into view.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He can still feel Cora and Peter’s bonds, even if he’s not an Alpha anymore, and it helps to ground him as he slips like a ghost through the markers before he finds hers. It’s next to the group marker for those lost in the fire.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>His chest heaving, from the run and too many memories clamoring for attention, he collapses before her marker and just cries, like he hasn’t in a long time. He’s not sure how long he’s there before he feels Peter and Cora arrive. They don’t say anything, just stand behind him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A distant rage for Peter standing so casually before her grave grips him but he pushes it away. He can’t kill the man again, can’t be the reason for more of his family to die. He may not be the Alpha anymore, but he can still lead their family.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He can’t run from this anymore, can’t run from their ghosts. It’s time he faced this once and for all.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I think we need help,” he admits softly, to the darkness and to the two behind him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Peter snorts but doesn’t disagree and Cora just laughs softly, finally stepping forward to hug her brother tight. They say admitting there’s a problem is the first step.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>~*~</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Two years later, and they’re back in Beacon Hills. Scott, the idiot and surprisingly competent Alpha after a few years to adjust, has accepted them into his pack, though they all eye Peter suspiciously, especially Lydia.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They arrive in time to attend the pack’s graduation, watching them cross the stage one by one. He feels a distant sort of pride mixed with sorrow. There are two missing from the pack, Erica and Boyd would have looked amazing crossing that stage. Cora touches his hand briefly and he nods, showing he’s fine.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It’s amazing what a few years of therapy can do to change one’s outlook on life.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They follow them back to the Stilinski residence, a party thrown for the whole pack. It’s chaotic and loud but it soothes something inside him. He’s missed these people who fought beside him, even Allison and Chris, though he keeps his distance from them.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They stay for most of the party, congratulating everyone and eating too much. But it’s been a long day for the three and they need quiet. The loft’s been sold, he unwilling to live where Boyd died. But Peter knows people that mange to get them a place of their own. It’s barely furnished but it’s a start, a place to put down roots finally, and a place to finally become pack again.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The summer flies by and before he even realizes it, most of the pack is leaving. A part regrets not returning sooner but he couldn’t have, not then. Still, he goes to their farewell party, eating and joking and making new memories to hold onto while they’re away.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He’s in the kitchen when Stiles walks in and there a feeling of déjà vu that settles over him. The teen looks good, finally having grown into his limbs and energy. Derek waits for Stiles to talk, seeing the fidgeting starting.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Hey, Derek,” he says with a small grin. “So, I know this whole shindig is for us, but well, I kind of got you something,” Stiles rambles.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Derek snorts, taking a sip of punch and ignoring the alcohol provided for the adults. He hasn’t touched the stuff since that day. He arches a brow, not saying anything but encouraging Stiles to go on. “Look, here, just don’t look at it until I’ve left, okay,” Stiles grumbles and holds out a hand with something small held in it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Derek offers his and watches a small USB fall into his cupped palm. Now his interest is peaked, but he nods. “I won’t,” he promises and Stiles grins again and drags him back out into the party where the others are all gathered. Derrek lets him with only a slightly annoyed growl as he tucks the small device into his pocket.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>~*~</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It sits by his computer, innocuous and demanding his attention. But he made a promise, so he waits for Stiles to leave, his jeep packed as he drives to college a few hours south. He waits until he feels for sure that Stiles has been gone long enough before settling in front of the computer.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The drive pops in easily and when he opens it, he sees files, lots of them. The first is an audio file and curious, he opens it up.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>His heart leaps at the first bit of sound.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Hey Der.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He hits the pause button and stares at the screen, mind reeling. He lets it play and nearly cries as Laura’s voice plays softly over the speakers. He can feel eyes on him and turns to see Peter and Cora watching him, eyes wide at the sound. He motions them over.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The message ends and he closes it, moving to the next file, an image. It’s Laura in her prom dress and he’d forgotten about that, how she had looked dressed up, her date standing next to her. He hits the arrow key and the next is her on the track, running, eyes closed, headphones in, limbs blurred from motion.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>There’s more of Laura, but peppered in, are pictures of the rest of his family: his parent’s wedding photo, Cora’s baby photo, him and Laura wrestling in the forest, Peter with a blonde woman and a small boy, smiling at each other, photo after photo. So many long thought lost when the fire burned their pack away.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The last one is a photo of their home, the windows glowing with light, Christmas decorations making it look like something from a fairy tale. He closes it out and finds one more file, a video file.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He holds his breath as he hits play. Stiles’ image jumps on screen, looking nervous, twirling a pen in his long fingers.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Hey Derek…and probably Peter and Cora,</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>So, you’re probably wondering where this is coming from. Honestly, I’m not sure when I got the whole idea. But I remember the first time I realized just what you had lost, when you had looked at your phone like your world had shattered.</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>It got me wondering just why you would look like that. Just what was on it: pictures, videos, messages, and memories, lost. It hurt to think about. I know what it feels like to lose someone, but at least, I still have ways to remember my mom. You guys lost everything.</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>When I realized that, I kind of went on a war path looking for things to give you. Danny helped me get that message for you, though sorry beforehand for listening to it, but I needed to be sure it was something you wanted. Most of the pictures I got from old high school friends of Laura or from your dad’s pack.</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>They were skeptical at first, since it seems they disowned your dad, but when I explained just why I was calling, I can’t tell you how many photos they sent me. It seems he still kept in contact even after they let him go.</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>They wanted your contact info but I wasn’t sure if you’d want that so I got theirs. I can give it to you if you want it or I can delete it if you don’t. Your call. But, this is for you guys.</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>[There’s a muffled shout from the other room]</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>So, I’ve got to go but, I hope you like this.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The video ends with him reaching for something. Derek comes to with a start, realizing that tears a running down his cheeks, unhindered.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Cora when he looks at her, looks gutted, eyes still staring at the computer screen. Peter looks lost, fists clenching and unclenching.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Derek fumbles his phone from his pocket, fingers shaking as he calls Stiles’ number. There’s silence on the other end before a heavy sigh and “I take it you looked at it.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Derek can’t speak, to many words crowding his throat. Stiles, taking his silence as negative, swears softly, “Look, it’s fine if you don’t like it. I know I stepped over so many lines doing this and you can smack me around when we next see each other if you want. I know…”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Stiles,” Derek finally growls out, stopping his ramble.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Silence.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Thank you,” he gets out, voice rough and ragged with so many emotions.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yeah,” Stiles says, like he knows all the things Derek can’t say right now. Maybe he does, knows what it means to have too much to say and no words to say it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Drive safe,” he says gruffly, feeling too raw, emotionally to keep talking much longer.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yeah,” Stiles says back. “Bye, Derek,” he whispers before the line ends.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He doesn’t move for a while, lets Peter take the computer and USB to make copies for both he and Cora. He feels…light. Not better exactly, he can’t be better with so many things to sort through in his head, but like he’s got a little more strength to bare the load.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He knows he’ll need to speak with his therapist later about this and he’ll growl and snap as she pokes and prods at the gaping wound in his chest, but, admitting there’s a problem is only the first step. He has to keep walking to heal.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>I love you, Derek.</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p> Her words echo in his head and for the first time in a while, he breathes without tasting smoke or ash.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>End.</strong>
</p>
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